Monday, February 28, 2011
He found new strength in hate
He found new strength in hate.
He’d born to absent parents who’d been too busy with the careers to give a shit about him. He’d grown up bullied and beaten on playgrounds and in classrooms. And then, as an adult, he’d gone from the failure to failure. He’d had no friends, no family . . . known no gentle touch. And then . . . the dissertation committee.
Bastards! Stinking pompous bastards.
And finally . . . finally . . . he was Here.
That’s quite enough, thank you very much.
The hate grew in him. The hate saved him. It filled him. It gave him new energy.
He would be avenged. He would find out who put him here. He would track them down and destroy them.
He’d born to absent parents who’d been too busy with the careers to give a shit about him. He’d grown up bullied and beaten on playgrounds and in classrooms. And then, as an adult, he’d gone from the failure to failure. He’d had no friends, no family . . . known no gentle touch. And then . . . the dissertation committee.
Bastards! Stinking pompous bastards.
And finally . . . finally . . . he was Here.
That’s quite enough, thank you very much.
The hate grew in him. The hate saved him. It filled him. It gave him new energy.
He would be avenged. He would find out who put him here. He would track them down and destroy them.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Sometimes there were corpse-quakes
Sometimes there were earthquakes. Or were they corpse-quakes?
Whatever . . . suddenly, the pile of death would move, quiver. Sometimes, heartbreakingly, the space he had been so carefully digging with his fingernails would fill again after such a quake.
But, he found it was easier to claw the space out again. And each time there was a quake, the weight on his chest was a little less. He redoubled his efforts.
Why was he here?
Was he in hell?
What had he done to deserve this?
Nothing. Somehow he knew. He was guilty of nothing. At least nothing so hideous as to be consigned here. No. He was simply in the hands of something with a capacity for infinite sadism.
Just then the mountain of the dead around him trembled again. For a moment, it seemed that the space he’d been so carefully constructing would collapse once again. But, then it held.
Another quake shook the mass. He worked harder.
Then . . . slowly . . . the hatred came to him.
Whatever . . . suddenly, the pile of death would move, quiver. Sometimes, heartbreakingly, the space he had been so carefully digging with his fingernails would fill again after such a quake.
But, he found it was easier to claw the space out again. And each time there was a quake, the weight on his chest was a little less. He redoubled his efforts.
Why was he here?
Was he in hell?
What had he done to deserve this?
Nothing. Somehow he knew. He was guilty of nothing. At least nothing so hideous as to be consigned here. No. He was simply in the hands of something with a capacity for infinite sadism.
Just then the mountain of the dead around him trembled again. For a moment, it seemed that the space he’d been so carefully constructing would collapse once again. But, then it held.
Another quake shook the mass. He worked harder.
Then . . . slowly . . . the hatred came to him.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Hellgate will return!
Hello, Everyone,
Sorry for the long, long, LONG delay...(three years? Oy!)
But, look for future additions real soon. Hellgate will return.
Sorry for the long, long, LONG delay...(three years? Oy!)
But, look for future additions real soon. Hellgate will return.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
God had no intention of helping him
For a time, the panic returned. Oh God Oh God Oh God…
But it seemed that God had no intention of helping him. He could go nowhere. Gradually he calmed. He pushed has hand forward into a skull before him. He felt it shatter. Yes! It gave him a little more space in which to move.
Days passed. He worked without rest, scraping away at the bodies and rotting flesh, compressing it into the walls of the space around his hand. Slowly, the hole grew.
Then, after a year …
He could move his arm!
But it seemed that God had no intention of helping him. He could go nowhere. Gradually he calmed. He pushed has hand forward into a skull before him. He felt it shatter. Yes! It gave him a little more space in which to move.
Days passed. He worked without rest, scraping away at the bodies and rotting flesh, compressing it into the walls of the space around his hand. Slowly, the hole grew.
Then, after a year …
He could move his arm!
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